Submission
by Wolfywoman
Summary: Wesker pins Chris up against a wall and things unfold from there... Oneshot smutfic, Wesker/Chris yaoi. Please R


"I had hoped you would be a little more responsive than this, Chris."

Redfield was currently pinned to a wall, both wrists held in a single gloved hand of his attacker. He was nude from the waist down, and the other was currently tugging on his shirt with his loose hand; it was to add insult to injury, no doubt, and rip away what last illusions of safety still lurked. Bruises and scratches along his torso were revealed, though many were too fresh to become visible yet, instead merely stinging when leather fingers pressed against them.

After two hours of fighting Chris was privy to the awesome stamina his once-Captain now possessed. After an hour all of Chris' energy had been spent and only raw determination pressed him on for an extra forty minutes; Wesker hadn't even broken a sweat. Now, pinned to the wall, he doubted he could escape even if the other man did release him; in fact, the blond was the only reason he was still standing.

"Don't do this Wesker…" His voice was softer than he wanted, hoarse from yelling. Wesker pursed his lips and took on a thoughtful expression. Then, releasing Chris' shirt, cupped the other man's cheek in a sickeningly sweet gesture. "Shh…" The blond drawled, chuckling darkly as Chris' gaze fell to the floor, no doubt trying to figure a way out of this. What a treat Redfield was.

"You'll find, Chris," The tyrant punctuated each word with a press of lips against the brunet's neck and jaw – who squirmed faintly but was mostly motionless against him. "That this can be quite enjoyable for the both of us…" A leather-clad hand snaked down the man's chest and exposed belly, slipping to the sensitive member between Redfield's legs and giving it a soft stroke of encouragement. The gasp it drew from Chris was absolutely precious.

"My, what would Claire think?" A sort of strangled noise left Chris, before the other chose to glare at the wall opposite them, no doubt imagining horrible, grisly manners in which to harm the blond. "Now now," Wesker continued to fondle Chris lightly, enjoying the strangled gasp that passed him before the brunet chose to bite down hard on his lower lip to stifle any further noises. Albert continued regardless, fingertips grazing along the underside of Redfield's shaft before he pressed his thumb hard on the tip. The younger man's hips pressed forward of their own accord, drawing an amused look and raised eyebrow from Wesker.

"Scandalous." He purred, enjoying the blush colouring Chris' cheeks. A sort of predatory urge rose in him as he watched blood trickle down Redfield's chin, though he resisted licking at it and instead brushed it away with the hand that had been fondling Chris moments before. "Don't be quiet on my behalf, Chris…"  
"Please, Wesker…"

"Please what?" The tyrant smirked, grinding himself against his rival. Redfield shuddered against him, and the power he got off of it almost made his eyes roll into the back of his head.

"Don't do this…"

A hoarse cry echoed in the room as Wesker gripped Chris manhood hard. A rumbling chuckle slid past his lips, but it sounded strained; Chris was suddenly struck by how like those monsters of Umbrella Wesker truly was. Just another one of their B.O.W., one of their vicious soldiers intent on annihilating every living thing they crossed.

"You want me, Chris… wanted me all those years ago back at S.T.A.R.S…." The devil was against his neck again, his kisses feather-soft and so deceptive. Chris had admired his Captain, adored him, and sure perhaps he had a childish sort of man crush on Wesker – who hadn't?—but that was years ago, when he was a good person. Or even just human.

_But that was all a façade…_ His mind whispered bitterly, a pang of lasting pain over the betrayal gnawing at him.

"I could never want a monster like you."

There was a soft burst of warm air against his throat as Wesker chuckled. "You'll learn to. And then… I'll kill you." The sound of the second statement made Chris' blood run cold, though he had no idea of why.

The tyrant straightened, grasping Chris' chin, his expression impassive if not slightly cold. "Or perhaps I should just ravish you outright. Your being difficult is hardly charming. In fact," He leaned in close, lips dangerously close to the other man's. "It's downright annoying."

Chris cried out as Wesker bit down on his lip, the area already tender from his own biting of it. The blond growled as Chris renewed his squirming, and the tyrant reached down to the base of Redfield's shaft to grip it tightly and pump it, turning the cry into a low pained moan that led to the blond transforming the bite into a deep, bruising kiss.

When Wesker finally broke the kiss Redfield had to gasp for air, drawing in deep panting breaths. He was only vaguely aware of the older man staring at something, and once the darkness had receded from his vision he let his eyes follow the other's gaze, flushing at the sight of his arousal.

"What were you saying about not wanting me?" The grip turned lax, stroking along the underside lightly again.

"Bastard." Chris sneered, staring off once more and ignoring how his hips rolled into the gesture. Wesker smiled but was silent, continuing the gesture. Redfield, as much as he hated to admit it, was starting to enjoy the other man. If he closed his eyes and tried hard he could almost imagine it was the Captain who held him against the wall and not his nemesis, that he wanted this attention and that he wasn't going to die when all was said and done.

There was something that made him feel so guilty when he thought of Wesker; as if he could have somehow changed the outcome of that night. For three years he worked for the man and never suspected a thing – one didn't become a monster overnight, and he was occasionally hit with a naïve belief that he could somehow convince the other man that there was more to life than power and wealth. But then he thought of all his team mates, those who had died at Wesker's hands and others whose lives had been completely undone, and he felt nothing but a burning hatred.

Albert Wesker had sold his soul.

Chris was drawn from his musings with a gasp, the tyrant having bit one of his nipples and now licking it. The shirt had been rolled up right to his armpits, exposing his chest and abdomen for the other's viewing pleasure. If the hand tracing the muscles was any indication, Wesker was not unimpressed.

"Enjoy yourself, Chris. You won't be surviving much longer anyways…" The reminder of what the blond intended to do after all was said and done was sobering. Chris shuddered, suddenly aware of the coldness of the room and, perhaps in desperation or some ancient, buried lust he pressed forward slightly; enough to press his sore lips against the blond's. Wesker became very still and motionless, the only movement Redfield's desperate smearing of his mouth against Wesker's.

Then Albert gave a soft purr of approval in the back of his throat, and leant forward to properly claim the brunet's lips, tongue pressing into Chris' mouth and examining everything. Redfield moaned softly, sliding one of his legs weakly up the outside of Wesker's, the man's trench coat crinkling and being drawn up as well. Taking pity on Chris he let his free hand grasp Redfield's knee and draw it up to his hip, his thumb stroking the leg absent-mindedly as they continued the kiss, Wesker curious to see when Chris would break it and Chris refusing to.

Finally, tiring of the younger man's stubbornness, Albert broke the kiss. Chris stared up at him through half-lidded eyes, his breathing more pronounced. "Just do it, Wesker." Redfield still didn't sound eager, but he had at least accepted his fate. The blond smirked, unzipping his pants and pulling out his own erected member. It glistened with its own wet arousal, and after giving it a stroke for good measure he switched hands holding Chris pinned and grasped the younger man's other leg, drawing it up to his hips as well.

Wesker hesitated slightly. "This is going to hurt." There was an uncharacteristic pause there, perhaps borne of the same intimacy that had led to Chris accepting his fate. The brunet nodded slightly to show he had heard him, a moment passing the pair in which they were as close as they had been in the days of S.T.A.R.S. – two men who trusted their life with the other, a bond as deep as two partners.

Or perhaps it was Chris romanticizing the situation. He was slightly caught off-guard when warm lips pressed against his own again, though not quite as much as when he felt the other pressing into him. He yelled loudly, though the sound was muffled. It seemed an eternity crawled on, a whole new pain passing him as the other continued to press in; he wanted to beat him, tell him to stop, anything – but he was still so weak. His eyes watered before he promptly squeezed them shut; Albert broke the kiss.

"You have to… nnngh… relax, Chris…" Wesker's voice was husky and strained, obviously requiring a great deal of will just to say that.

"It… it hurts… it hurts so much…" Chris didn't know why he didn't think it would – why he thought Wesker wouldn't make sure every last moment he drew breath for would be agonizing. It seemed an eternity passed before his hips were flush with the tyrant's, the man completely buried within him. Wesker panted hard into Chris' shoulder. "Relax Chris…" Before the brunet could respond the blond's warm mouth was on his again, and he fled into the warmth desperately.

The hand that had once held his knee moved to his member, stroking it again and earning a soft gasp of surprise. Wesker continued to stroke him as he started to move his hips, a small trail of blood running down Chris' thigh. He really should have prepared him better… Oh well. At least now he had distracted Redfield enough that the other was actively thrusting into his hand, breathy moans barely hinting at his discomfort before such discomfort disappeared completely.

Wesker began to pick up the pace, thrusting deep and fast, Chris shaft throbbing in his hand and close to its own climax. A particularly angled thrust illicited a loud cry of pleasure, the younger man's back arcing. Albert chuckled, continuing to strike the sensitive area to continue the string of noise, quite enjoying the sound. The hand holding Chris' wrists together fell instead to Chris' waist, to help with propelling into the warm other, and Wesker was pleasantly surprised when weak arms fell to his shoulders and quaking fingers slipped into his blond locks.

Trembling lips pressed to the tyrant's, the contact constantly breaking from the rough jerking of his body but continuing desperately. A low moan choked its way into Chris throat before he threw his head back and let out another of his delicious cries, climaxing in the blond's hand with a cry of, "WESKER!!!!" The whole world became black with dancing speckles of white, and he told himself it was the Captain holding him and not some monster -- it gave him the strength to press his lips against the other's again.

Wesker pressed into the kiss, releasing Chris' shaft and holding the back of the brunet's head to keep the kiss from being broken as he rode out the last waves of his own orgasm. A hard shudder wracked his form as he finished, pressing into Chris one last time with a soft groan of his own. His eyes closed, though it was impossible to see through the glasses, and he broke the kiss to press his face into Chris neck, resting against the other man while he caught his breath.

When his energy had returned he slowly drew back from Chris, sliding out of the other man and releasing his hair. With surprising tenderness he grasped the other man's wrists, pinning them up against the wall above Redfield's head once more. Chris stared ahead, knowing what was coming and praying it would at least be quick. He was going to Hell for enjoying Wesker, but he hoped he could at least go out in a mercifully quick manner.

Then he recalled this was Wesker, who had no concept of mercy whatsoever.

"Any last requests, Redfield?" Albert drawled, sounding bored as he used his freehand to zip his pants back up once more. Chris swallowed, a thousand requests coming to mind, ranging from begging the man to swear to never harm Claire all the way to the sick desire to be taken again by the blond. Ultimately he said none of these, drawing all the last reserves of energy and will to keep his voice from trembling. "Someone will take my place, Wesker. You can kill me, but you won't ki-!"

There was a sudden, horrible snapping noise, and Chris thought Wesker had broken his neck. Then, as his stomach flopped he realized he was falling – just in time to appreciate how hard and cold the floor that met him was. He wheezed, realizing he couldn't have broken his neck if he still felt the ground under him. Confused he stared up at Wesker, his nose swelling already and pointing to the left, blood running from it.

"Always the same boring speeches with you, Chris. Perhaps it would do you well to learn a few new lines."

The black-clad tyrant tugged his pant legs up and crouched, grasping a fistful of brunet hair and twisting Chris' head back to look at him, the young male grimacing at the pain of the action. Wesker smiled. "I don't suspect anyone _will_ ever take your place, Chris." He leaned close, pressing a mockingly chaste kiss to Redfield's forehead. "I enjoy you far too much to let someone replace you." He released the human, standing to his full height.

"So… you're going to let me live?" Chris voice was barely audible over the hum of nearby computer monitors.

Wesker suddenly took on a dark, vicious look that made Redfield regret ever speaking. Wesker's voice became a low sneer, full of the hatred he so readily informed the younger man that he harbored for him; "Do not mistake my intentions. I _despise_ you, Christopher Redfield, and I will enjoy killing you…" A dark boot was pressed atop Redfield's neck, pushing the younger man into the floor and causing him to wheeze in pain. The boot began to press harder and Chris felt the floor crushing against his cheek. A wild horror grasped him as he felt all air cease entering his lungs.

When Chris began to still Wesker's sneer softened. "But not yet." The statement was distant, thoughtful; the boot slipped from the back of Chris' neck, allowing the man to draw in much needed gulps of air. Almost tenderly the boot moved, sliding under Chris' chin and tilting the pain-twisted face up to stare at curiously. The boot moved to under Redfield's neck, supporting the weight of the other man upon it. A look of curiousity crossed Wesker, similar to a cat examining a bird with a broken wing.

Then he drew away, enjoying the grunt that sounded from Chris as the other collapsed wholly upon the floor. "Until next time, Chris," Purred the blonde, sauntering away from the brunet and leaving him to collect his clothing and thoughts. No matter how many times they did this he was never prepared for how… wistful he felt afterwards.

Not for the monster. Not for the traitor. But for a gorgeous blond Captain just shy of his forties who he cared for a little more than he cared to admit.

Chris licked his lips, tasting the last of the intoxicating remnants of Wesker there, then let his eyes move across the room in search of his pants.

"Can't believe he broke my f*cking nose…" Chris muttered, before starting the slow process of retrieving his clothing and trying to stem his nosebleed with the sleeve of his shirt.


End file.
